


Life drawing

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive levels of italics, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Aspirational sex toy collections, Aziraphale considers wanking himself into an early grave, Aziraphale is a blushing mess, Caning, Crowley is a life model, Eventual Smut, Like what is wrong with you people??, Love is the choking sensation of being unable to breathe, M/M, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexually suggestive burritos, Shibari, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), So... fisting?, Tentacles put in a minor appearance, The inevitable downward slide into BDSM, The inevitable downward slide of Crowley's eyeliner, The two of them will get mashed together until they get the idea, Ultra-romantic skullfucking, Warning: the author has not a romantic bone in their body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22739455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Zira gets dragged along to a life drawing class.  He's truly terrible at drawing, and even worse at trying not to stare at the devastatingly attractive model...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 347
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	1. Chapter 1

Zira was feeling queasy with discomfort. Anathema had dragged him along tonight, said he needed to get out more and meet people. He hadn't agreed, but here he was anyway.

'Here' was an odd basement cafe, currently with the tables and chairs cleared to the sides for a life drawing class. This was _not_ his idea of fun. Uncomfortably staring at naked people (and yes, thank you Anathema, he was quite aware of how long it had been), trying not to embarrass himself with a pen and paper. Zira was painfully clear about his lack of talent in that department.

Anathema was perfectly at home in this space. It had a vaguely hippie vibe. She dragged him around a few people, introducing him to them. The teacher seemed friendly, maybe a little taken aback by his self-effacing insistence about his lack of talent. She'd see for herself soon enough though.

Checking his watch nervously, Zira saw it was almost seven. He hadn't been able to work out who was this evening's model. Part of him hoped it was a woman, so he could look more dispassionately, no chance of attraction. But it had been an awfully long time since he'd last been able to admire certain details of a man (tasteful art books aside)...

Then he saw him. A devastatingly beautiful man, in a silken black dressing gown, sauntering from the direction of the toilets. The teacher, Lizzie, headed over to have a word, and Zira watched, entranced, as the gorgeous being slipped off his robe and sprawled onto a chair in view of the whole room.

_Bollocks_.

Zira could feel his skin going clammy. The regulars were already picking up pencils and beginning sketching. Lizzie came over to speak to him, and he swallowed down his anxiety with a gulp. Everything was fine, this was a totally normal human activity, people had been drawing each other naked for centuries... He could do this.

Lizzie was speaking. He tuned in part way through, but he caught enough to hear that they'd do fifteen minutes with this pose, and there was no right or wrong way to begin drawing. He frowned at this part. There _was_ a wrong way to start, and he would unerringly find it.

The teacher wandered off to help other people, leaving Zira with his pencils and blank paper. This was _awful_. He glanced at Anathema, hoping for some solidarity. What he actually got was a smirk, before she pointedly turned her gaze back on the beautiful creature in front of them.

Zira gave himself permission to look. He was _supposed_ to look. The man was simply stunning. Shoulder-length auburn hair just a little bit tangled, sharp features, sharp all over. The man was all angles and hips. Zira blushed and quickly looked away from that region. Looking was alright, but not _staring_.

Right. Blank page. His mind dredged up something about... proportions? He drew some guiding lines, slightly at random. Then an oval for the head. Then he remembered the chair. This was all going wrong. It would help if he could just look at the man without blushing.

He looked to the side again. Anathema's drawing was so _expressive_. She'd already captured the man's insolent gaze, the way he looked at the room like he owned it. Zira would never look like that.

Right. No time for shame spirals. Zira began frantically sketching. The more marks he made on the paper, maybe the more chance some of them would look alright?

Lizzie came round again, and reminded him to look more at the model. Zira was all too aware that the issue would more be one of _stopping_ looking. The poor man must get stared at all the time in the street, looking as striking as that.

Stop _staring_ , Zira. There must be a middle ground – the right amount to look at him without... without _ogling_. He simply had to _focus_. Zira scrawled a few more marks on the paper in desperation.

The first fifteen minutes were up. All Zira had to show for it was one blunt pencil, and a piece of paper which it would be a kindness even to call trash. He sighed and flipped to a new page.

The model was stretching exaggeratedly, before settling in a new pose, standing. God, the _arse_ on him. Zira was shamefully glad that the man was facing away from him, couldn't see him staring. If only he had some kind of _talent_ , to do this beautiful creature justice. If he could sketch him, or cast him in bronze. The man was simply stunning.

The rest of the class seemed totally unfazed. Their gazes flickered between paper and model. Anathema was once again getting on splendidly. Zira turned disconsolately to his own paper. Maybe if he focussed on just one part of the man, and really tried this time?

Telling himself it meant nothing, Zira tentatively started sketching the man's arse. The curve of it, the gorgeous cleft... It wasn't fair. How was he supposed to draw something that was already so perfect? Zira drew a series of rounded shapes, spread across the page. None of them looked remotely like the real thing. Zira stared at the model's behind, searching for some clue as to how to depict it. He could _appreciate_ art well enough, could understand the beauty of the man's sharp curves and tense lines. He just couldn't _capture_ it.

Another fifteen minutes up. Another failed drawing. Anathema glanced at his page and smiled. She seemed to be having a good time, although Zira wasn't sure at whose expense.

And another pose. Hands on hips, and (shitshit _shit_ ) the model was looking right in his direction. Zira blushed furiously. How the _hell_ was he supposed to look at him? Zira didn't usually swear much, not even within the confines of his own head, but this class was stretching his decorum to the limits.

Legs. He would draw the man's legs. He would not make eye contact. He might very well die if he made eye contact. This would be _fine_. Anyone could draw a pair of legs. Zira gritted his teeth, and commenced sketching again. This was going really badly, but it was fine. The class was only forty-five minutes. He could stay calm for another ten. It was _fine_.

Zira glanced up a little too carelessly, and caught sight of the man's penis. Oh dear Lord. It was _perfect_. Long and thick and... Zira instantly banished the word 'succulent' from his mind. He would _not_ objectify this man. He deftly ignored the part of his brain that pointed out he was altogether too late.

Concentrate on the legs. The lean, muscular legs. Oh God... Could he humiliate himself any more?

Lizzie called out that the time was up, and they could go round and look at each other's work if they wanted. Yes, yes he could humiliate himself more.

Zira elected to stuff his drawings into his bag quickly, before Anathema could stop him. He already knew his face was bright pink, the important thing was to _never acknowledge it_. Quick, start enthusing about her work instead. No, not about that bit, ignore that bit. Focus on neutral body parts. Torsos. Dear Lord, he was doomed.

The problematically attractive man had vanished at least, and Zira could breathe a little easier. When eventually the torment of looking over each other's work was over, and Anathema suggested the pub, Zira leapt at the idea like a dying man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: fancy trying a bit of modelling for me?


	2. Chapter 2

Zira felt distinctly queasy again as he walked to the same cafe a week later. He hadn't suppressed this amount of sexual attraction since high school. And frankly, he'd gained a lot more experience and a _lot_ more imagination since then...

This was clearly a problem. The hunger he felt for this nameless man was in no way appropriate. The poor fellow was _working_. It must be hard enough getting naked for a living, without some awful fifty-year-old letch coming on to him.

No. The only thing to do was to _suppress_ those emotions, keep coming to the class for enough sessions to pacify Anathema, and then to let things tail off _naturally_. Enough of these lewd _fantasies_.

The lack of lewd fantasies lasted all of three seconds, once Zira had caught sight of the man's too-perfect naked body again. Oh, to sink his teeth into those _buttocks!_ The man was simply _sinful_...

Zira swiftly reminded himself that the sins were very much his own. It was not ok to lust after this man with zero consent on his part.

There was a hiss of words to his left. “It's a pen. _Use_ it.” Yes, _thank you_ , Anathema. Very helpful. Zira made some scratches with the pen. They looked appalling.

The thoughts resumed the instant he flicked his eyes back up to the model. Zira wanted to mar that gorgeous arse. To make it his, covered in possessive marks. Take a cane to it, even. He blinked. It had been years since he'd had that particular urge...

He began what he hoped would look like shading on the back. Imagined digging his nails in and scratching down those muscles, and then licking his tongue along the injured skin. Listening to the soft whimpers that might draw from the man. What did he sound like? Zira had never even heard him speak.

When Zira began fantasising about that unknown voice _begging_ him, _pleading_ him to please work him open and fuck him, he sternly told himself enough was enough. He took a calming sip of water, and was absolutely _not_ going to think about crooking lubed up fingers inside the man, making him wildly beg for more. He _wouldn't_ then insert a series of ever-larger toys, opening him up like the most delicious present.

_Fuck_.

Zira noticed the sound of rustling paper. The rest of the class (who had apparently come here to learn to _draw_ , Zira's exasperated inner voice pointed out) were onto the next sketch.

And oh dear lord, he'd forgotten the mouth on the man. He wanted to fuck those slutty lips. This was _not_ ok. Why did his mind keep _thinking_ these things? He had _no right_ to be thinking of his cock down that throat, with a possessive hand there to feel it slide in and out... He was in a _roomful of people_ , and _none_ of them were having these absurd fantasies. He was disgusting. A pervert. It was no wonder he hadn't gotten laid in years.

_And this is the first time you've wanted to._

This was ridiculous. He ought to gather his possessions, and leave now with a little dignity. Explain... something to Anathema later. He should not be staring at that luscious mouth.

What was worse, was the absolute stone-cold certainty that the man was gay. The way he held himself. That _walk_. There was no doubt in Zira's mind. And that meant there was a chance. A chance the man wouldn't be disgusted. Wouldn't punch him in the face based on sheer revolted instinct. Might welcome him. _Want_ him. Zira tried not to groan.

He began sketching cartoonishly bad lips. Glanced with envy at Anathema's page. Was it him, or did the face she'd half-drawn have a lustful expression? He looked back at the model, whose gaze was focussed on the middle distance between Zira and the woman to his right. No. It was a pose, nothing more. Definitely a pose.

Zira glared at his abominable paper. He would always be a horrible artist. How unfair it was to appreciate this beauty so completely, and be so _utterly_ incapable of depicting it. Now if he could take a few pieces of crimson rope... Tether those slender arms behind his back. Abrade the rope across his skin, let it bite into him in a taut chest harness. Stark red lines across pale skin. Maybe even braid a rope into his hair... Pull the man off-balance onto his knees. Arch his back and connect that sinful hair to his ankles. Watch his knees splay as he fought to stay upright, as Zira stood over him, watching the pretty struggle take place.

Ok. Get a grip, Zira. Where was all this _coming_ from? He'd thought that part of him dead and buried. After his very slutty and experimental twenties (and ok, thirties. And early-to-mid forties...), he'd got into _that_ relationship, and had his confidence sapped away. It felt a little bit like he was on fire, and should maybe be thinking about panicking right about now. What the _hell_ was going on? He didn't even know the man's name...

Next pose. This one was going to do _nothing_ to dampen those inner fires. The man was sprawled on the chair similarly to last week, but with his legs splayed apart (so much like that last fantasy...), leaving everything on display.

Fifteen minutes to go. He could do this. Keep making shitty marks on the page, keep pretending he was here for the same reasons as everyone else. Avoid staring at the man's penis. Then escape. Make his excuses about the pub. And home, to wank himself into an early grave...

It was altogether not helpful that the man kept _facing_ him. Ok, so Zira had parked himself right in the middle of the semicircle of aspiring artists, but it did feel an awful lot like God was real, and wanted him to suffer. Those parted lips, so _biteable_. He wanted to maul them between his teeth. Savage those pink nipples. Mark him up, and drag him back to class to be put on display.

This was getting dangerous. Maybe a bit of fantasy wasn't such a bad thing. But this leeching desire for _ownership_. Zira was starting to think this wasn't some harmless crush he could just walk away from. What the _hell_ was he supposed to do?

Belatedly, Zira noticed Anathema was eyeing him. Had she noticed? His face must look a picture. She mouthed a word: _'Pub?'_ Zira wordlessly shook his head.

The last few minutes of the class passed in a blur. Everyone finished up their drawings – Zira disposed of his in his bag again – and milled around to see how each other had got on. The man draped himself in that silky black robe again, and began to saunter off. Lizzie called to him. “Annette says she'll be back next week, Crowley.”

_Crowley_. His name was Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: all of the above, y/n?


	3. Chapter 3

_Bugger_.

Zira was ten minutes late, it was raining, _three_ people had tried to buy books from him today, and he just couldn't stop thinking about Crowley.

The past week had been awful, a trial. He'd tried to stop the fantasies. He would catch himself drifting, and sternly go make a pot of sober, sensible tea. After two days of this he abandoned this plan, lest he start getting a hard on every time the kettle boiled. Then the dreams started. The messy, messy dreams.

By the time Zira made it down the stairs and into the cafe he was soaked, miserable, and rather pink in the face. And then he saw the model.

_It wasn't Crowley_. Crowley had been replaced by some – some _woman_. Zira tried not to splutter his outrage. Taking a very deep breath, he composed himself and walked to the spot Anathema had saved for him. Still breathing (that was important), he peeled off his wet coat, and prepared to start drawing the blasted woman. Pencil. Paper. Searing sense of injustice at the world. He was all set.

And that was when he sensed someone's eyes on him. Turning, he found _Crowley_ of all people stood to his right, staring at him, and wryly raising an eyebrow at the kerfuffle he'd been making. _Fuck_. Fuckety fuckety _frick_.

What the _hell_ was he doing there? And why in the Lord's name was he wearing _clothes?_ Zira couldn't handle this. He turned his body rigidly to face the front. Gripped his pencil. Started drawing rounded globe shapes that would horrify even the very worst of plastic surgeons. The pencil dug into the paper, leaving ugly black troughs on the page.

“Try holding it more loosely,” Crowley hissed.

Zira dropped the pencil.

After he'd ducked down to retrieve it, he came back up and caught Crowley and Anathema _exchanging a glance_. This could _not_ be happening. This was clearly a setup, one of those horrible reality TV shows Anathema delighted in telling him about. Any minute now he'd see the cameras, and some awful host would leap out to publicly humiliate him.

Ok. Get a grip, Zira. Remember about the breathing. Concentrate on maintaining the exact right level of tension on the pencil. Ignore _everything else going on here_.

_Definitely_ ignore the man's skin-tight black trousers. _Stop peeking_ , Zira. You've seen it all before. Cancel that last thought. Not a helpful train of thought...

Zira forced himself to look at the woman in front of him. She would probably be quite attractive, if he'd ever been inclined that way. Mid forties. Nicely curved. Zira tried to draw the curves. He could almost _hear_ Anathema and Crowley sniggering at him. It was like being in a roomful of demons.

Next pose. Zira checked the time. He'd missed the first fifteen minutes, so now they were already two-thirds of the way through. The humiliation was nearly over. Zira vowed never to set foot in this class again.

More chicken scratches on the page. More feeling like eyes were upon him. Zira stared straight ahead, not even looking at the paper any more. Soon it would be over.

And then it was. He'd survived. But when he reached down to quickly hide his awful drawings, a cool hand clasped his wrist.

“I wanna see.”

Oh Lord Jesus Christ, this could not be happening. Why the _fuck_ was this happening? He was a good person. Well, _mostly_ a good person. Maybe not exactly an angel. But did he deserve this? The _literal man of his dreams_ holding onto his arm, and seeing what a talentless nobody he was. By this point, the only reason he was choosing to keep breathing was that if he died now, Anathema would absolutely go round telling everyone he had died of autoerotic asphyxiation.

“It's very... abstract. I like the way you destroyed the page.”

Zira forced out a laugh, and wondered if he could die now. Then Anathema came up behind them, and hugged both their shoulders.

“Pub?”

Zira would have pleaded his excuses. Pointed out he was wetter than a drowned rat. But Crowley had already shrugged and said “sure,” with an easy smile.

He was fucking doomed.

At The World's End, Zira somehow muddled through buying a round of red wine and conveying it back to their table. High stools – he was already set up for disaster.

Still, no harm in helping it along. Zira gulped rapidly at his wine.

Anathema had already slipped into easy conversation with Crowley. They seemed to be on good terms. Zira felt a wave of loathing for the world and its confident younger population.

There was a pause, and the pair stared at him expectantly. Zira stammered out an eloquent “um, what?”

“I said, how are you finding the class?” Crowley looked... affectionate? No, that couldn't be right. Maybe tolerant.

“It's... a little overwhelming. I'm not very _good_ , you see.”

Another of those wry eyebrow raises. “There must be something you like about it?”

Zira blushed and drank more wine, rather than stating the utter filth inhabiting his brain. This very much became the theme of the evening. Crowley would say something arch or leading, and Zira would blush his way through a response. Anathema was looking on as if all this was fantastic entertainment, damn her.

Several rounds later, Zira had gleaned a few insights into Crowley's life and, more importantly, had resisted the urge to drag him to the toilets and ravenously fuck him into next week.

It turned out Crowley was a part-time art student, part-time barista (“Starbuck's – coffee's shite, but it's free”), and part-time life model. He alternated with Annette, and got to sit in on classes for free.

“Sounds exhausting,” commented Zira.

“Yep... No choice though.” Crowley looked depressed at this thought. Then he brightened. “Could always get me a sugar daddy!”

Anathema cackled and shoved Zira, who nearly fell off his stool. He made a show of straightening himself up with dignity, and thoroughly avoided saying anything.

The conversation drifted back to art. Crowley dabbled in sculpture, but he was mainly into portraits at the moment. “I know just how I'd draw you...”

Aziraphale was feeling befuddled. He knew he'd had rather a lot to drink, but wasn't Crowley flirting with him? The way he kept smirking and teasing him did feel awfully like flirting but... why? He wasn't rich (although he had filed away that 'sugar daddy' comment for further inspection), or good looking, and he couldn't draw for toffee. It was all rather bewildering.

Fortunately alcohol was there to smooth the path of the conversation quite adequately. Zira even felt at some points like he might be flirting back. _Anathema_ certainly looked self-satisfied. He'd have to confer with her some other time.

Crowley was talking about the abominable art class again. Apparently getting paid to take your clothes off felt a lot less exploitative than serving people coffee. Who knew?

“So will you be coming back next week?”

“I... I really don't know. I don't think I'm improving _at all_.”

Crowley just hmm-ed at that, and shortly afterwards declared that he'd better be off.

When he slipped off the stool and put his jacket on, he came around the table close to Zira and murmured in his ear to “come back next week, and I'll let you buy me dinner.” He then gave a sharp nip to Zira's earlobe, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sugar... Valvopus??


	4. Chapter 4

Next Tuesday came all too slowly. Having consulted with Anathema, Zira was determined to go back one last time, and at the very least get Crowley's phone number. It was true they were vastly mismatched in almost every regard, but that _body_ of his... Zira was by now used to waking up most mornings in an embarrassingly sticky mess.

He'd even got out some of his old _equipment_ , and refreshed his memory of it – both in hopes of using it on Crowley, and also just to fuel his daytime fantasies.

When he finally made his way to the class on Tuesday, Zira was feeling somewhat jittery. He all but had a date scheduled with the man, and that was frankly terrifying. The thought of sitting through dinner and making conversation, without making a fool of himself or drifting off into some of the truly filthy scenarios in his head... It would be tricky.

And of course there was the class to get through first. He arrived on time at least, and set up next to Anathema. She smirked at him excessively, but it was still good to see a friendly face. And when Crowley came out... He looked even more devastating than usual. He'd made his face up with some kind of smokey eyeliner that really should have been prohibited for inciting immoral behaviour. Zira dug his nails into his palms as he struggled not to picture the man on his knees, eyes streaming and makeup running as he choked on Zira's cock.

Right. That was _quite_ enough of that line of thought. Forty-five minutes to survive. Judging by the grin Crowley had flashed him, they were on for tonight. All he had to do was last forty-five minutes without self-combusting. Totally doable.

Zira picked a limb at random and started scribbling, mentally distracting himself with muddled recollections about biceps and triceps. No sexual tension whatsoever. He was in a roomful of people, of _course_ there was no sexual tension. And that's why he would _under no circumstances_ get an erection.

Limb one turned out looking like a turkey drumstick. Zira tried for a leg next. Crowley had unfairly defined muscles, all of which were lost in translation onto the page. This was good though. The more Zira focussed on his hideous drawing, the less he was paying attention to Crowley's infuriatingly perfect body. Just keep sketching, Zira, you're doing fine.

Poses one and two proved to be fairly easy to cope with. Pose three however... That little shit had decided on _bending over with his arse on display_ , quite clearly to inflame Zira's desires. And oh God, it was working. The only consolation was that the pose looked ridiculously uncomfortable to hold for a full fifteen minutes. Zira only survived by dredging up memories of a mindfulness session Anathema had dragged him to (with significantly less stimulating participants than the current class), and then mentally bollocking himself to look as calm and placid as the teacher. Definitely how that was supposed to work.

Fifteen minutes later, Zira had drawn not a jot. But that was _fine_. The class was over, he hid his lack of work in his bag, and joined the others in milling around looking at sub-par sketches.

And then Crowley was coming up behind him, and putting a hand on his shoulder... Zira tried not to look too much like he was blissfully inhaling his scent. Don't be weird, Zira. Stale cigarette smoke is _not_ sexy.

“Dinner?”

Zira managed to blush out an acceptance, and they left together, under Anathema's amused gaze. He established that they both liked Thai, and ushered Crowley into a nearby restaurant – so far without putting his foot in his mouth.

The meal went surprisingly smoothly. By 'liked' it turned out Crowley meant he knew sweet fuck all about Thai food, and asked Zira to order for him. Which absolutely should not have been a turn on. He did however insist on a tall glass of iced coffee with condensed milk in. Zira tried a sip, and proclaimed it to be foul.

But they chatted away, and Crowley fed him prawns from his plate, which was... a normal thing. Nothing to get excited about. And definitely not excited in that way, thank you very much.

And then Zira got the bill, and Crowley gave him a look of _worship_. Which was absolutely not setting a precedent. Paying for meals was _not_ a kink. On the other hand, there was really no pretending that when Crowley whispered another suggestion in his ear (with the same nip on the earlobe to seal the deal), he found it anything but intoxicating.

Crowley had invited him to his flat 'for a nightcap.' And really, there was only one way to take that – and that was with great enthusiasm. The evening was going _very_ well.

It turned out the flat was only another ten minute's walk away. And then in the lift... Crowley had pressed the button for the top floor, and then promptly crowded Zira into the corner. And then they were kissing and it was _wonderful_. Hungry and aggressive, like Crowley really _wanted_ him. Zira was a little dazed when the lift binged and the doors opened.

They stumbled out of the lift together, and Crowley fumbled with his keys. He seemed a tad clumsy, although he'd had nothing but coffee with dinner.

Door conquered, Crowley pulled him into the flat just enough to close the door. And then pinned him to the wall. Zira was drunk on sexual tension. It was dark in the hallway, and Zira felt surrounded by Crowley's scent. He bit at the other man's lips, drawing a groan from them both at the sensation.

And then Crowley was slithering to his knees, and gesturing in the half-light. “Can I...” In answer Zira grabbed Crowley by the hair, and ground his crotch into the man's face. _Fuck_. Zira's braincells were operating on emergency power only, but he knew that he _wanted_ this.

Crowley's clumsiness did not extend to unzipping flies. Pushing clothes out the way, he let Zira's hard cock sink past those slutty lips that Zira had so admired.

It turned out that Crowley sucked cock like a man whose life depended on it. Like he was starving. He worked himself up and down, mouth slick with saliva. Forcing Zira's cock down his throat and making little choking noises. Zira was overwhelmed with how hot it was. He'd stopped thinking entirely, only feeling this pulsing warm sensation in his crotch. And Crowley was _insatiable_. That tongue of his was _sinful_...

Zira clutched at Crowley's head. He was almost dizzy with stimulation and the thought of coming down Crowley's slender throat. Apparently he transmitted this idea to the man kneeling beneath him, because Crowley redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking, before pressing his face flat into Zira's groin as he pulsed through his climax.

Crowley let out an adorable little 'mmph' and relaxed against Zira's crotch. Zira felt wrung out, and absently stroked the man's hair, blearily savouring the soft texture.

After a minute Crowley sat back on his heels. “ _Shit_.”

Confused, Zira asked “what's wrong, my dear?” as he fumbled to find the light switch. When he located it, he found Crowley looking quietly devastated.

Sliding down the wall to join him on the floor (and finding a not altogether pleasant sensation as the cold floorboards hit his bare arse), Zira reached out a hand to Crowley's smeared face.

“Whatever's the matter?”

“I... I fucking ruined it. I genuinely fucking like you and then I go and wreck it by sucking you off in the hallway like a common slut. I'm a fucking _moron_...”

“Oh my dear,” said Zira as he took Crowley's face in both hands. “Whatever would give you the impression that I'm not into sluts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: you're into sluts too, right?


	5. Chapter 5

Zira's single remaining braincell kicked into gear. He could fix this. Still cradling Crowley's face in his hands, he asked “Now, how about that nightcap?”

“Um. Yeah, sure.”

They both stumbled to their feet – Zira pulling his trousers back up as he did so – and Crowley led them into what turned out to be both living room and kitchen.

“What do you fancy? I've got... whisky, or black coffee.”

Zira waited in case there were more options, but when none were forthcoming he opted for whisky, and sat himself down on what looked to be a deeply uncomfortable sofa.

After a minute's clattering, Crowley brought over two tumblers half-filled with whisky. They sat on the sofa and sipped in silence. It tasted surprisingly decent, all things considered.

With a final sip of his whisky, Zira put the glass down on an ugly square coffee table, and turned to put his plan into action. He leaned over and gently placed a hand on Crowley's thigh.

“My dear, would you allow me to return the favour?” He glanced significantly at Crowley's crotch, in case he wasn't being quite obvious enough.

Crowley looked startled, but nodded.

“Take your trousers off for me then.”

It turned out that watching Crowley squirm out of the tight denim was quite entertaining, with an added spike of lust when Zira realised the man wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Zira guided him to sit back down on the sofa to face him, and took a moment to appreciate Crowley's half-naked body. “ _Gorgeous_.”

Then he bent over to suck Crowley's hardening cock. It had been some time since he'd last indulged, and he made happy noises of appreciation at the velvety texture of Crowley's head. Zira had always been an enthusiastic giver and receiver of blowjobs, and Crowley was simply _delectable_.

He settled into a steady rhythm, and noted with satisfaction that Crowley seemed to be relaxing a little at last. Zira flickered his tongue rapidly, enjoying the little jolt Crowley gave at the new sensation.

Zira shuffled backwards a little on what was really a _very_ uncomfortable sofa, to give himself a little more room to work with. He tugged Crowley's legs up and apart, and pulled back to admire the feast before him.

Keeping up his rhythm on Crowley's cock with one hand, Zira dipped his head back down to lap delicately lower and lower, until he reached Crowley's arsehole. The man squirmed above him, and swore gently. Taking this as encouragement, Zira licked deeply over and over.

The sofa really was _awfully_ uncomfortable, no cushioning at all. But Zira had a point to prove. He licked enthusiastically, swirling his tongue and loving every whimper he drew from Crowley's mouth.

Zira came up for air briefly, and licked his thumb, before placing it over Crowley's arsehole and rubbing in slow circles. He went back to sucking Crowley's cock, working himself up and down with increasing speed. He upped the pressure a little with his thumb, and plunged his head forward as he felt Crowley begin to spurt his climax.

Crowley twitched above him as he sucked gently, before slowly pulling back. Zira sat up and rearranged them both so he could stretch an arm around Crowley's shoulders. He felt _wonderful_. Crowley seemed to have enjoyed himself, if the semi-sweet taste in his mouth was anything to go by, and Zira felt hopeful that his plan of mutually assured sluttiness had been a success.

After a few minutes of silence, Zira's mind began to wander back towards the awful discomfort of the sofa. How long was a respectable time to wait post-oral sex before bringing up poorly designed furniture? He suspected the longer, the better, and tried to focus on stroking Crowley's lovely hair instead. It really was _exquisitely_ soft.

Finally he felt compelled to speak. “You know, this is an _abominable_ sofa.”

“Huh?”

“It's too firm! And _boxy_.”

“It came with the flat...”

“But don't you believe in cushions?” Zira nearly wailed.

This apparently had Crowley stumped for a good while, before he eventually came up with the solution. “Another drink?”

Zira hastily agreed, trying to drive out thoughts of buying dozens of tartan cushions and secretly scattering them around Crowley's flat. That was _definitely_ not the route to further dates.

After Crowley had fetched them both another drink, he draped himself gracefully over Zira's lap. Zira felt so gratified that he didn't even wonder whether that was because he was more comfortable than the sofa.

The whisky was _very_ palatable. Zira felt himself relaxing more and more. He started stroking Crowley's cheek with the back of his hand. “Feeling better?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah. Sorry... I get anxious sometimes.”

“That's perfectly alright, my dear. I hope I didn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No... It's just me.”

“You always seemed so perfectly put together before tonight. It was a little intimidating...”

Crowley laughed at that. “Nah. I wasn't faking it or anything, I just have sort of different personas for different situations. _You_ certainly got a lot more bossy tonight though.”

Damn. Zira had forgotten his tendency to somewhat take charge of certain situations. Before he could apologise though, Crowley continued.

“Relax, I _liked_ it. Really.”

Well. _That_ was something to think about... Feeling experimental, Zira tangled one hand in Crowley's hair and half-yanked him in for a kiss. Crowley practically melted in his arms. _Very_ interesting.

Crowley's mouth tasted of whisky, with a faint trace of smoke. Again, Zira struggled not to find that attractive. Middle-aged bookshop owners were _not_ supposed to be having casual sex with gorgeous men in skinny jeans with devastating cheekbones and an aroma of cigarette smoke. But he was here now, and it would be rude to leave at this point... And Zira always made a point of being polite.

They resurfaced some time later, whisky miraculously unspilled. Crowley was smiling. “Do you want to stay over? Tomorrow's my morning off.”

Zira had no desire to refuse. He smiled back. “Play your cards right, and I'll take you somewhere nice for breakfast.”

Crowley positively grinned in response.

It turned out Crowley's bed was the only comfortable piece of furniture in the entire flat. The mattress was just the right side of squishy, and the sheets were sinfully soft. Apparently Crowley only spent decent money on whisky and bedlinen. Zira was building up an interesting picture of the man from his flat.

The bedroom was sparse, all monochrome without any decoration. There was a desk with some drawing materials and a couple of sketchbooks. Crowley was busying himself at the bedside table. “Meds,” he explained, shaking a box. Zira was more concerned with luxuriating in the ridiculous black sheets. The man must spend _weeks_ at a time in bed, and who could blame him?

Morning came quickly for Zira. He'd never been a heavy sleeper, but he could tell that the same couldn't be said for Crowley. He was snoring peacefully, though he'd somehow tangled himself up in more than his fair share of the sheets during the night. He'd also forgotten to take his eyeliner off the night before, so was sporting some rather fetching panda eyes.

Deciding to let him sleep, Zira made himself some coffee in the kitchen (no sign of teabags, or milk) and wandered back to Crowley's desk to flick through the sketchbooks.

The first page he turned to nearly made him snort black coffee out his nose. This _was_ looking interesting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: come test my sofa?


	6. Chapter 6

Page one of Crowley's sketchbook was exquisitely drawn in pen and ink. Zira was instantly taken back to some of his earlier fantasies. Crowley's mouth stretched wide, clearly choking as his eyes leaked, streaking makeup. The whole thing was beautifully obscene. The drawing felt alive with motion, spots of ink flying around the page. And Crowley looked so vivid, staring upwards helplessly as unseen hands fed the monster cock into his mouth. The thing was glistening, shiny and black with detailed suckers all down one side.

Zira could feel his blood rushing through his body in a very definitely downwards direction. He might not have envisioned the giant tentacles, but otherwise the image was taken directly from his own head. Crowley had a _filthy_ imagination. That is... unless if it wasn't imagined? Zira had seen a few things in his time, both through personal experience, and through Anathema's sporadic phases of sending him links to any especially depraved looking sex toys she came across. It seemed to amuse her for some reason.

Anyway. What if it was real? What if Crowley had been in this room, on his knees, gagging as someone gorged him on tentacle cock? The thought was obscene. And Zira in no way felt a little jealous. Still. Zira knew in his heart of hearts that the best way to cure jealousy was to keep on snooping. He turned to the next page.

After a few seconds of gazing lustfully, Zira hastily decided to sit down before his legs gave out. Crowley had serious _talent_. As self portraits went, it was a masterpiece. Zira would recognise that body anywhere, and the vivid splash of red for his hair – almost the only colour on the page – was devastatingly effective.

Crowley had depicted himself from behind on all fours, with muscles tensed and his gorgeous arse marred by painful red lines. Riding crop? No, too close to actual bleeding. Probably some kind of whip, Zira decided. And as for Crowley's arsehole... It was stretched and gaping, with an obvious dribble of come leaking out. Zira suddenly dropped the sketchbook back on the desk, and hurriedly snapped it shut.

_Fuck_.

Was the whole thing like that? Zira hardly dared look. His oxygen-starved brain was screaming at him to _not fuck this up_. The man's body was worthy of any marble statue museum piece, and his mind was filled with so much filth that even Zira might find himself sated.

Shit, shit, _shit_. How the _hell_ did he not fuck this up?

Before he could consider strategies, Zira heard a languid 'mmph' noise from the bed. Crowley was waking up. Zira turned in the chair to see him stretch his arms, all exaggerated lankiness. Crowley smiled as his eyes focussed on Zira.

“Were you looking at my sketchbooks?”

“Well, um... I might have just _glanced_ at one of them,” Zira stuttered.

“Which one?” Crowley looked a little guarded. Zira decided just to show him, rather than explain, and held the book out, open at the tentacle.

“Oh!” Crowley laughed, and relaxed instantly. “What do you think?”

“It's... fantastic. Very _evocative_.”

This made Crowley laugh, and Zira relaxed in turn. He tried to sound casual. “Was it done from life?”

“Yep! I suctioned the dildo onto that mirror. Did most of it from memory. In situ didn't quite work out...”

Zira was relieved. There was no-one to feel jealous of after all. He suddenly felt like they were too far apart, and there was no good reason for it. He got up and crossed over to the bed. Crowley sprawled over the pillows seductively.

When Zira had clambered onto the bed, he reached over and stroked Crowley's cheek, appreciating his lazy beauty. How could anyone look this gorgeous with their eyes crusted with sleep and makeup left smeared from the night before? But no matter. He angled Crowley's face towards him, and laid an indulgent kiss on his lips.

“You're very filthy.”

Crowley snorted. “You're one to talk! I do have eyes, you know. It takes a whole new level of pervert to look like they're mentally undressing someone who's already stark bollock naked!”

Zira briefly considered being offended, and quickly rejected the idea. Instead, he swung his legs round to straddle Crowley's lap. Twining the man's red hair in one fist and tugging sharply, Zira was gratified to hear Crowley's gasp of pleasure.

“You like being treated like this, don't you?”

With Zira's hand still tightly wrapped in his hair, Crowley could only give the slightest of nods. It warmed Zira to the core. Reaching down with his other hand, he brushed lightly over Crowley's smattering of chest hair, before settling on one of his nipples. Zira dug his nails in sharply, drawing a hiss in response.

“Did you like the way I looked at you?” Zira ground down on Crowley's pelvis as he spoke. Crowley only whined in response.

“Speak.” Zira tightened his hold in Crowley's hair.

“Y-yes. You kept frowning at me, and then sometimes you looked like you were going to fuck me right there in front of everybody.”

“You liked that?”

“Yes...” Crowley seemed to be struggling to articulate himself.

“And you'd like me to fuck you?”

Crowley nodded in response.

“Condoms. Lube.” Zira sat back to allow the other man to move. Crowley scrambled to comply, as Zira took off his boxers.

When Crowley had sourced both lube and some condoms, Zira took them and pressed him back into the pillows.

“Good boy.”

He hitched up Crowley's knees and spread them apart. He really was breathtakingly pretty, so Zira told him so. Crowley only whined in response, as Zira spread lube on his fingers.

Crowley's eyes scrunched up adorably as he pushed the first finger in. Zira wasn't being overly gentle, but when he checked if it felt good to Crowley he nodded emphatically. Zira wanted to rip his teeth into that exposed throat as he fucked the man senseless. He added another finger instead, and angled them just right. Crowley shuddered.

“That's enough. I'm ready.”

“Sure?” Zira didn't feel that he'd stretched him out that much.

“Fuck. Yeah...”

With a last internal stroke, Zira pulled out and ripped open the condom packet. When he was slicked up and ready, Zira teased his cockhead around Crowley's hole. Crowley dragged his legs further apart in response, and gave Zira a look that would be distracting him for fucking _months_ to come.

Then he was pushing in, and watching the flickers of emotion across Crowley's face. Pain, but clear arousal. A bit of gasping, and a _lot_ of animal pleasure.

Crowley didn't like to take things slow. He was needily pushing up into Zira, who was only too happy to respond. He began fucking him fast and rough, spreading the man's thighs as they both tried to open him up more than humanly possible. Crowley was hissing every time Zira slammed into him, and it was driving Zira _crazy_. He pushed himself even harder, chasing those noises and those expressions.

It was when Zira started really digging his nails into Crowley's thighs that it all got too much. Crowley's face was contorted in absolute pleasure, and Zira couldn't hold out any longer. Fists contracting into that lean flesh, he slammed home one last time and collapsed onto Crowley's chest as he came.

A minute later, they lay side by side as Crowley lazily pumped at his own cock. “So... did I earn my breakfast?”

“Yes, my dear, I think you did.”

Zira felt utterly contented later when he watched Crowley's arse disappear into the bathroom to wash up. The pleasure was not at all diminished by the howl that soon followed.

“You absolute _bastard_. You could have fucking told me I still had my makeup on. I look like a _fucking panda!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: come to the dark side. We have tentacles...


	7. Chapter 7

Zira finally got back to the shop around half past two. The first thing he did was to fish out a fountain pen, and amend the opening hours on the door to say _CLOSED on Wednesdays_.

He couldn't believe how well it had gone. Breakfast had been phenomenal, his enjoyment of the delicious crepes only slightly marred by Crowley's gleeful insistence on having pancakes with both maple syrup and bacon. The man was a heathen. It was fortunate that he had some very redeeming qualities...

Making himself a cup of tea, Zira settled on the sofa to think of those redeeming qualities. That sinful body, with a filthy mind to match. There'd been a moment over breakfast when a glob of maple syrup had started dripping down Crowley's lip, and Zira had been forced to remind himself that respectable men in their fifties did not leap across cafe tables to devour their dining companions, no matter how sugar-coated their lips.

Mind you, Zira was starting to suspect he wasn't very respectable at all. Pushing his foot into Crowley's denim-clad crotch and applying just a _little_ bit too much pressure probably hadn't been the respectable thing to do. The way Crowley had nearly collapsed onto his plate had been worth it though.

They'd managed some actual conversation too, in between the bouts of naked lust. He'd learned some more about Crowley. He was thirty-six (although he neither looked nor acted it), art school was his second attempt at higher education (the last time 'hadn't worked out' – said with a grimace and a clear desire for no further questions), and he had to work all hours of the day and night to pay his way (no student loan to fall back on, and seemingly no family either).

He didn't work Wednesday mornings though. And now they had a regular date set up. Crowley had seemed excited about that, although he tried not to show it too keenly. Definitely sufficient provocation for the foot thing, Zira thought, quickly exonerating himself.

Zira closed his eyes, remembering Crowley's face as he'd none-too-gently exerted pressure with his foot. The groan he'd made had been really quite exquisite. Absently, Zira reached for his phone.

_Zira: I wonder how pretty you would look trussed up on the floor, with me standing over you. I'd place one foot on your balls, and slowly crush you as you lay there helpless. Would you like that?_

It took forty-five minutes for Crowley to reply (he was at work, after all), during which time Zira completely failed at focussing on today's cryptic crossword.

_Crowley: FUCK. Do you realise it's WEDNESDAY and I have to wait SIX DAYS to see you. I'm DYING_

_Zira: I think I'd keep you pinned down on the floor as I slowly pleasured myself. I'd enjoy hearing what noises you'd make as I crushed you. Then I think I'd splatter you with come, and perhaps fetch a book to read. I'm sure it would be simply torture for you, lying there all sticky and unsatisfied. Would you like it if I read you poetry?_

_Crowley: YOU BASTARD. I scalded myself on the MILK FROTHER._

Zira smirked at this, and decided to let the poor boy work in peace. With a slight frown, he turned back to seventeen down.

Three hours later, and Zira was second-guessing himself. He really didn't know Crowley all that well, and here he was sending him depraved text messages... Scanning through Crowley's couple of replies, he tried to figure out if he'd mis-stepped. Should he send another message to check? Or best to leave well alone?

In the end, Zira went for a vague air of fretting, and a bit of vigorous dusting. He didn't want the shop to look _too_ inviting, but spreading the dust around a little couldn't hurt.

When his phone finally pinged a response, Zira hurriedly snatched it up to see the reply. Crowley had sent him a picture.

It was another pen and ink drawing, in monochrome. There Crowley was, stretched out on the floor. His face was contorted in rapturous agony, as Zira towered above him. The perspective effect was quite _remarkable_. Actually, the whole thing was stunningly erotic. There were a number of droplets of come flying through the air, spattering Crowley's face and chest. Crowley had given Zira powerful legs, all muscle and clear downward pressure. Zira usually had no illusions about his own body, but in this drawing he looked _godlike_.

Zira quickly resolved to keep sending Crowley dirty texts. Clearly, they were more than welcome.

On Thursday, Zira returned to the subject of tentacle dildos, with happy thoughts of drawings already seen.

_Zira: My dear, today I'd like to skewer you with my cock at one end, and that tentacle dildo at the other. How far do you think it would slip down your throat, with me ramming you from behind?_

_Crowley: FUCKKKK YOU ARE LITERALLY KILLING ME_

_Zira: Don't exaggerate, you sweet thing. I imagine you'll find it quite pleasant._

Once again, Crowley responded hours later with an obscene-yet-exquisite drawing. Zira felt no compunction about masturbating to it, but did wonder if he could be frustrating Crowley even further. Should he phone him up, and let him hear the pleasure he was causing?

Friday saw him doing just that. Crowley was apparently in uni, meaning he could check his phone more easily, so their texts to each other were gloriously free-flowing. After informing Crowley that today he was thinking about tying him up, and rubbing chilli paste over Crowley's weeping prick (because Zira was 'certain you'd look so pretty when you cry'), Zira told him to expect a phone call tonight.

Today's drawing was a wash of watercolours, predominantly in red and black. Crowley looked just as pretty crying as Zira had imagined. After Zira had admired and savoured every detail, he lost no time in calling Crowley on the phone.

When he answered, Crowley seemed a little out of breath. Definitely pleased to hear from him though.

Zira quickly fell to teasing him, interspersing comments about Crowley's artistic talents, and a running commentary about how Zira was now touching himself.

This soon elicited the desired effect. Crowley whined down the phone, and then very sweetly asked permission to touch himself. This was a _very_ pleasing development. Zira felt a wave of affection for the man.

“Of course you can, since you asked so politely. You've been very good to me this week.”

Crowley whined some more at the compliment. Zira had noticed that he was none too good at receiving these. Clearly something to work on further down the line.

For now, Zira continued murmuring praise and filth, and letting Crowley's moans and whines feed his own arousal.

When he came, Zira gasped raggedly down the phone, before re-composing himself and primly telling Crowley that it should certainly be his job to clean him up with his tongue. The other man responded with a string of garbled consonants, and a series of stuttered breaths. He made a further soft sound as Zira praised him a final time, “Good boy,” and then hung up.

Zira considered that he'd done very well this week, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: FINISH YOUR DAMN STORY


	8. Chapter 8

Fate really didn't play fair, Zira thought as he hugged his knees into his chest. He'd been waiting for Tuesday to roll around ever since last Wednesday's date had ended, and now here he was, on the day, alone and crying.

He hadn't known what to say to Crowley. How did you explain these things via text? So he'd just messaged asking him to please call after class. Was that a better or worse way to cancel on him? Who knew.

Crowley rang at ten to eight. It must have been as soon as he'd finished class and got dressed.

“Hey, what's up?” Crowley sounded cautious over the phone.

Snuffling a little, Zira tried to pull himself together enough to speak. “I... I can't come meet you tonight. I'm sorry.”

“Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“I don't know, it's hard to explain. Can we... can we just do this another night, please?”

There was a pause while Crowley must have been mulling over what a wreck Zira sounded.

“I'm coming over. Sounds like you need a hug. Can I come over?” Crowley said all this in quick succession.

“My dear, there's really no need. I'm ok, really...” Zira knew he sounded anything but ok.

“I'm coming over. See you in half an hour.”

“You can't come over, you don't know where I live!” The thought of seeing people filled Zira with dread. Even Crowley.

Another pause. “I do now. A.Z. Fell, bookshop. Got you. I'm hanging up now, I'll see you soon.”

Zira cursed the yellow pages, and went back to hugging his knees.

Twenty five minutes later there was a soft knocking at the door. When Zira opened it, Crowley looked heartbreakingly worried. Had he really sounded that bad over the phone?

“Come in, dear. You really shouldn't have... it's just me being silly.”

Crowley pulled him into a tight hug. It did feel good seeing him, even if Zira was rather embarrassed about his puffy eyes and ruffled appearance.

After Crowley let him out of that constricting hug (which really did feel ever so nice, Zira noted for later), they headed for the back room and the sofa.

“You're going to make me explain, aren't you?”

“Yep.”

Zira considered his options. “Back in a sec.”

After a minute's bustling, he returned with wine and two glasses.

“If you're actually going to make me talk about my emotions, you'll at least have to keep me company in getting sloshed.” This seemed only fair to Zira, and Crowley nodded his assent.

With a hefty glug of wine to start him off, Zira started to explain. “I... thought I saw my brother today.” He knew he looked stricken, he always did when talking about his family.

“And that's bad?”

“Yes. Well – it might not have been him. But then it might have... I'm saying this all wrong.” He paused to take a deep breath and, since he'd already stopped talking, another glug of wine. “I haven't spoken to my family in over fifteen years. They... they weren't good people.”

He stopped again, this time to look down at his hand. Crowley had taken it and was stroking it soothingly. The gesture was somewhat at odds with the angry look on the other man's face.

“What did they do?” He sounded angry too, words tight and clipped. But those hands were stroking his so gently.

“They... They loved me really. I'm fairly certain they loved me really. But they controlled everything I did. I wasn't allowed even so much as to think the wrong thoughts. And certainly not live the life I wanted to. Or date the people I wanted to date.”

Another pause, another glug of wine. Zira kept his eyes focussed on his hand clasped between Crowley's. Eye contact sounded like a dreadful idea right now.

“So... I left. I left and I never looked back. But today I was out shopping, and I thought I saw Gabriel. I don't even know if it was him. So – so that's what happened.” Lamely finishing, Zira knew exactly how he sounded. Not how a grown man would behave at all. He was an utter disaster.

But when Crowley spoke again, it was with almost painful gentleness. “That was so brave of you. Leaving your family. I... they're not worth it. You deserve better.”

And Crowley was suddenly hugging him (and it turned out to be good that Zira had already drained his glass, because Crowley practically leapt across the sofa at him). Zira was feeling a little muddled, but gratified at the sudden lapful of Crowley.

Their foreheads resting against each other, Zira felt Crowley's breath on his face. It felt almost painfully intimate. They stayed like that for some time.

Eventually Crowley heaved a sigh. “I bet you've not had any dinner.”

“Well, no. I've not got much food in...”

“Takeout it is then! Chinese?”

It didn't take much for Zira to let Crowley order a mountain of food for them both. When he remarked how kind Crowley was being though, he was answered with a sharp “Shut up.” Still bad with compliments, then.

Chinese was obtained and eaten, and Zira saw to a good proportion of the wine, with Crowley hoovering up the rest. Crowley insisted that they have an early night after that.

“And actual sleep, alright? You look shattered.”

Sleep was in fact just what he needed. The next morning, Zira awoke refreshed and happy. So, naturally, he prodded Crowley awake to share in his joy.

“Mmhwha?” Crowley eloquently let noises fall from his lips.

“It's morning! And you were so very kind to me last night.”

Crowley glared in response. Zira continued unperturbed. “So I thought I should do something nice for you. Here, I made coffee.”

“That's not nice, that's a basic requirement.”

“Well, quite. That's not what I meant though. Here, drink your coffee.”

An adorably sullen Crowley did as he was told, and sipped at his drink. He might also have made a few faces in between gulps.

Zira waited for him to drain the whole cup. Then he reached behind him to retrieve a bundle of rope. And watched Crowley's eyes light up.

“Now, my dear, it struck me that while we've had a fair few... _exchanges_ , we've not actually done any of this in real life. Do you have a safe word you prefer to use?”

“Let's do 'aardvark.'”

“Aardvark?”

“Yep!”

And that seemed to be that. Taking Crowley's cup away, Zira next blindfolded him with a length of fabric. It had been some time since he'd done any rigging, but he was enjoying it even before he'd really started.

Zira brought the first bunched up length of rope to Crowley's face, and rubbed it against his lips. Crowley shivered. Wrapping his arms around the other man's skinny frame, Zira began passing the rope around him. Soon there were several bands of rope hitched around his chest and shoulders.

Next, Zira asked for Crowley's hands. Willingly given, they were soon woven into the design behind Crowley's back. Ropes nice and taut, but not so much as to do lasting damage. Crowley looked _gorgeous_ like this. Zira ran a hand appreciatively down the bumps of his spine, now crisscrossed with rope.

“Does that feel good?”

Crowley's response was a whine and a nod.

Slowly wrapping his arms around to encompass Crowley's chest again, Zira then reached down to the other man's cock. And then he _squeezed_.

“Does that feel good too?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Crowley nearly wailed.

“Mmm, I'm glad. Now, since you're looking so very pretty, how about I lube you up and fuck you?”

The pitch of Crowley's answer nearly shattered the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: you trust me with rope, right?


	9. Chapter 9

The position Zira had chosen was not, he admitted, the easiest. Having first pushed Crowley forwards to land face-first on the bed, he then rapidly fingered him open. While Crowley whimpered into the mattress, Zira took the necessary precautions and lubed his cock up.

When he levered Crowley back up from the bed, arms still tangled and tied behind his back, Zira used his easy strength to pull him back into position. Crowley whined as he slowly guided him into place, and shivered when Zira finally pulled him down and onto his prick.

With Crowley so firmly trussed up, he was entirely dependent on Zira for balance. Zira began thrusting upwards, at the same time as he pulled Crowley's body down. The poor boy was whimpering again, and driving Zira wild with enjoyment.

Not that that made him let up the pace whatsoever. Slamming Crowley down onto his cock again and again was simply _breathtaking_. And the _noises_ he made. Feeling him be completely dependent, unable to see or balance himself, it was just making the experience all the more intense. Zira was feeling very appreciative of that blindfold.

Fucking up into Crowley felt _incredible_. The man was so responsive, so eager to please. Zira gripped either side of Crowley's ribcage, and manually pumped him up and down. Crowley had started making tiny gasps as he was forced down onto Zira's cock, twitching automatically as he bottomed out.

Zira began whispering gently to him, telling him how good he was being. All the while, brutally slamming into him as he held Crowley in place. It felt _delicious_.

By the time Crowley's head started lolling from the sheer force of that much fucking, Zira was already close to the edge. A couple more thrusts upwards, and he was coming, hugging Crowley in close.

After he lowered Crowley back down, gently this time, Zira began unknotting the cords. He took his time, stroking the sensitive skin as he released it. When he was fully untied and blindfold removed, Zira pulled him around to spoon with him.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah... Fuck.”

“Quite.”

Crowley didn't seem inclined to talk, so Zira contented himself with hugging him close, and maybe quietly sniffing his hair a little.

Tragically, Crowley did have a job to go to. But Zira managed to fit one last activity in beforehand. Fishing the necessary implements out from inside the wardrobe, he laid them on the bed.

“Choose one.”

“Um?”

“For next time.”

After some deliberation, Crowley chose a rattan cane. “This one.”

“Very well. I'll bring it round next week, and we'll see how you like it.”

Crowley blushed a little at this, apparently pleased at the thought.

Eventually Crowley rolled himself off the bed, and onto the floor with a thump. He sulkily got dressed, and left for work. Zira was sad to see him go.

Still, last night had gone an awful lot better than could have been expected. Crowley had been very sweet really, and Zira felt warmed by the way he'd insisted on coming over to take care of him. He'd have to find a way to repay him someday. The horrible shock of seeing Gabriel had been quite driven from his mind.

In the meantime, Zira thought that, judging by his face's reaction to the options, Crowley would very much enjoy their next date with the cane.

The week passed with the now usual degree of flirting. Crowley kept Zira's heart racing to a rather unfair level with his erotic drawings (all of which Zira carefully saved for later perusal), and Zira found increasing enjoyment in ordering Crowley about from a distance. It had been some years since he'd explored his domly side so thoroughly, and really he didn't recall ever enjoying it so much as he did now.

When next Tuesday finally rolled around, Zira set off to meet Crowley after class. He was sporting an entirely non-ostentatious large black poster tube slung across his back.

He hung around awkwardly at the back of the room for a few minutes, eyes flitting between watching Crowley and Anathema drawing. The atmosphere was made no less awkward when Anathema somehow sensed his gaze, and turned round to grin at him pointedly.

Still, the class eventually ended, and Crowley was there to grab him by the hand and pull him from the building. Anathema was a good friend, but she did like to stare right into your soul at the most inconvenient moments.

They went straight back to Crowley's flat. Crowley had apparently bought in pizza (“And wine!”), in a blatant attempt at skipping any boring restaurant-based small talk, and instead making a beeline for the main event of Zira giving him a damn good thrashing.

Zira did not feel averse to this plan in the slightest. Crowley was wearing black lipstick with matching eyeliner, and he really did look _stunning_. Zira could hardly wait to get him home and make a mess of him.

Crowley was all over him as soon as they got behind closed doors.

“Fuck, I've missed you.” His hands roamed around Zira's body, before settling at his crotch. He whined when Zira gripped him by the hair and pulled him back.

“Patience, dear. I have other plans.”

It felt nice having his hand buried in Crowley's hair like that, so Zira kept it there as he made for the living room sofa. Crowley obediently allowed himself to be dragged along behind.

“Sit.”

Crowley sat.

“Now, we're going to have a little discussion.” Zira shed his jacket, and unscrewed the cap of the poster tube. He tipped the rattan cane out into his hand.

“Do you still want this?”

Crowley nodded.

“Words, please.”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Good. Now, since we haven't done this together before, I thought I would start you off gently. I am going to hit you ten times. Then if you want me to continue, you will have to say so explicitly. No words, no more hitting. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Now remind me of your safeword.”

“Aardvark.”

“Good. Now strip for me.”

Zira enjoyed watching Crowley scrambling to obey. Watching him wriggle out of his tight trousers was especially appealing. When he was fully undressed, Zira positioned him bending over the arm of the sofa.

“ _Gorgeous_.” And then he thwacked him with the cane.

Crowley jerked a little, and settled back down again. A lovely red line was already appearing across his buttocks. Zira wielded the cane again.

He was glad to have done a little practise at home earlier (even if he had destroyed that poor feather pillow). The marks were lining up beautifully parallel. After five strokes, he came close and squeezed one cheek in his hand. Crowley let out an agonised yelp.

“How does that feel?”

“S'good. Feels good.” Crowley was slurring his words ever so slightly, the sweet thing.

Zira was having a lovely time. He struck Crowley twice more in quick succession, then let him rest for a few seconds. When he started back up again, Crowley was moaning quietly to himself.

Strokes nine and ten came and went. Zira came around the sofa to cup Crowley's face and lift him by the chin. He was trembling just a little.

“How was that?”

“More.”

“Are you certain?”

Crowley nodded in response. “Yes.”

When Zira paused from hitting him another five times, he could hear Crowley's sobbing.

“Still with me?”

“ _Yes_.” Crowley's voice sounded absolutely ruined.

“Good boy. You look beautiful like this. Five more, and then we'll have dinner.”

Blood had started pricking the surface of some of the welts on Crowley's arse. Zira felt near dizzy with arousal.

Crowley began curling in on himself over the course of the next few hits. His feet left the ground and hugged into the side of the sofa. Zira had never seen anyone so pretty. His makeup was smearing _beautifully_.

“One more. Are you ready?”

“Yes...”

Zira drew the cane back a final time, and landed it with a thwack. Crowley let out a choking gasp, and started sobbing again.

When Zira buried his hand in Crowley's hair again, he was as gentle as he'd ever been. Stroking and soothing, whispering to Crowley how good he'd been. They stayed like that for a while, Crowley still curled over the arm of the sofa. When Crowley's breathing had started to ease back into a normal rhythm again, Zira left him for a second to rummage in his bag.

“Shh, good boy. Stay still for me.” Crowley hissed as Zira patted an alcohol wipe over his skin. “I know it stings. You're doing _so_ well though.”

They never did get round to cooking the pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: anything hit the mark? :P


	10. Chapter 10

Zira was having a surprisingly good time home alone on his computer. Having decided to refresh his toy collection, he'd first trawled Google for a the top listed online sex shops. He dismissed a couple (the first too mainstream, the next looked too cheap), before finding a third that really did seem just right.

There were some _very_ interesting toys on offer. The animal dildos section alone was fascinating. Still. He'd not really broached that kind of topic with Crowley yet, and for today's purchases he had some other things in mind.

Turning to the gags section, he scrolled through slowly. He had some very definite requirements. Some of the simple O ring gags looked nice, but when he found a certain spider gag, he _knew_ it was the one. Coated in black PVC, it suited Crowley's aesthetic, and should keep his mouth lovely and open for the play he had in mind.

He added it to the basket. Having found the thing he was most interested in, he started lazily browsing the other sections. There was some sleek fetish gear that Crowley would look absolutely _gorgeous_ in. Maybe he'd find an excuse to treat him sometime... Crowley was a bit weird about compliments though, so Zira wasn't sure how he'd take surprise presents. Mulling things over, Zira set up an account with the site and promptly started filling his wishlist.

After some thought, he went back to the gags and added a couple of other options to the list. Some of them were a bit extreme for this stage of their arrangement, but Zira couldn't help imagining Crowley's head caged in leather, mouth plugged closed until Zira deemed it otherwise... Or maybe this one with the internal dildo. He thought Crowley would quite like to be stuffed full like that.

Before he knew it, an hour had slipped by and Zira still hadn't bought his spider gag. Honestly, and he hadn't even checked out the nipple clamps he wanted. He really ought to learn to focus on the task at hand. Still, this part wasn't too hard. He quickly picked out a pair (adjustable; Crowley seemed quite sensitive to pain).

Right. Time to check out, before he got hopelessly distracted again. He made the purchase, sent a suggestive text to Crowley, and then settled down to read in bed.

Tuesday finally crawled around, and Zira packed his bag with care and satisfaction before setting off to meet Crowley after class.

He arrived nicely on time, just as they were packing up. He was just about to congratulate himself on the minimum of awkward waiting around he'd have to endure, when Anathema rounded on him.

“What did you _do?_ ”

Zira was somewhat taken aback. “What do you mean, dear?”

“ _This!_ ” Anathema thrust a piece of paper at him. It was a drawing of Crowley, unsurprisingly. It was rather good.

When he told her this though, it was apparently not the answer she was looking for.

“ _Look_ at it!” She pointed emphatically at the rather obvious lines of broken skin and bruises on Crowley's artistically rendered arse.

“Ah. Well. I can assure you that it was all fully _consensual_...”

“I should damn well hope so! Here he is.” She rounded on Crowley. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

Crowley just grinned as he took the drawing. “'S pretty good. Nice shading. Nice arse too...”

She huffed a breath out angrily. “You two are as bad as each other.”

“Yep!” With that, Crowley grabbed Zira by the arm and pulled him out the building, laughing as they went. Zira absolutely resisted the urge to grab Crowley's arse and _squeeze_. For all of around five seconds. When he gave in to temptation, Crowley yelped _very_ satisfyingly. They hurried home with some urgency.

When they got past the door to Crowley's flat, Zira caught Crowley up in his arms and crushed him against the wall.

“Did you miss me, my dear?”

“Yeah...” Crowley looked embarrassed. It was _adorable_.

“Do you want to see what I've brought you?”

Crowley nodded.

“Bedroom, then.”

They headed through, and Zira cheerfully pushed Crowley onto the bed. He fell with a yelp.

Tonight, Zira felt like undressing Crowley himself. He cradled Crowley's head on his chest as he removed his jacket one-handed. Crowley nuzzled him affectionately. Next the t-shirt, over his head. Zira raked his hands across Crowley's chest, letting his nails catch on the nipples. Crowley whined in response.

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh _good_.”

He finished undressing Crowley (the jeans came off with a struggle as always), and turned to rummage in his bag.

First he fished out the nipple clamps, and held them out to Crowley for inspection. The two clamps were connected by a long chain, just right for tugging on. Crowley's face reddened a little in anticipation.

He brought out the spider gag next. A large O ring to go in his mouth, with four pronged legs sticking out to keep it perfectly in place. And all in gothic black.

“Do you like it?”

Crowley nodded, and took hold of the gag for a closer look. “It's _nice_ ,” he said in approval.

“Would you like to wear it for me?”

Another enthusiastic nod.

“And these too?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose a little. “Ok.”

“We'll put those on first, and see how you do. I'll take them off if it's too intense for you. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah. That's good.”

Still fully clothed, Zira straddled Crowley on the bed. He gently pinched one of Crowley's nipples between his fingers, before adding the first clamp.

“How's that?”

“'S good. Not as bad as I thought.”

“Excellent. Now the other one.” He repeated the routine with the second clamp, and gave the chain between them a slight tug. He kept his eyes on Crowley's face to gauge his reaction.

Satisfied that Crowley was still enthusiastically on board with things, Zira picked up the gag. “I'd like you to wear this now, and lie back. You'll stretch your arms above your head, and only lower them if you need me to stop and check in with you. Is that ok?”

“Yep. That sounds good.” Crowley's eyes were trained on the gag hungrily.

Taking him by the jaw, Zira gently angled the gag and settled it inside Crowley's mouth. _So_ pretty. The black prongs looked simply _obscene_ emerging from his stretched mouth. He fastened the buckle, and encouraged Crowley to lie back on the bed. He positioned Crowley's arms just as he wanted them.

“You're very lovely, my dear.” Zira took hold of the chain again, and gave it a little pull. Crowley made _delightful_ noises.

Next, Zira repositioned himself between Crowley's legs. He looked an absolute feast, spread out for him like that. Zira barely knew where to start.

He trailed his fingers down Crowley's thighs. The _noises_ he was making... Zira stroked at Crowley's arsehole.

“May I?”

When Crowley nodded, Zira knelt and began licking him out, loudly and messily. He left one hand curled around Crowley's cock, giving it just a little attention.

As Crowley made more and more garbled moans, Zira licked his way upwards, briefly taking Crowley's balls in his mouth, and settling on the head of Crowley's prick.

As he settled to the task, Zira reached up and yanked on the chain. Crowley slurred out a scream, but his arms stayed pinned above his head. Such a good boy.

Zira tugged erratically on the clamps as he sucked Crowley off, never letting him get too comfortable. When he felt like Crowley was getting close to coming, he pulled his mouth off and continued with his hand.

Crowley was twitching beautifully. Zira felt truly blessed by the sight of him, no less so when he spasmed and spurted all over his own chest.

“ _So_ good for me. Stay like that just a little longer.”

Straddling him again, Zira began scooping up finger after fingerful of come, and bringing it to Crowley's parted lips. He smeared a little over those gorgeous lips, and pushed his fingers into Crowley's open mouth for him to lick clean.

When he'd fed Crowley almost all of his own come, Zira bent over licked the rest off the man's chest himself. He licked his lips.

“ _Exquisite_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: tentacle dildo or... snake?


	11. Chapter 11

Zira was starting to think he had a problem. Seeing Crowley once a week just wasn't enough. There was no way round it though – he knew Crowley didn't have a choice about how hard he had to work just to keep his head above water.

It was a good thing Zira had a vivid imagination (and that Crowley was sending him near-daily explicit drawings).

Friday night – that meant it was four days until he saw Crowley again. And four lonely nights. He'd never minded the evenings usually, not until he realised he wanted to be spending them with Crowley.

Still, Crowley's latest message had been interesting to think about. He'd sent a beautifully executed drawing as was usual: this time Crowley was on all fours again, giving a view of his arsehole stretched obscenely around a large hollow butt plug. To be quite frank, it was _huge_. And made of some kind of clear rubber, so Zira could see every internal detail. Wanting him so much was _painful_.

Crowley had followed the image with a few words: ' _Fill me up?_ ' Zira could think of nothing better.

So, he fantasised. And wanked himself into oblivion on a nightly basis. It wasn't perfect, but at least he had the real thing once a week.

Tuesday was a long time coming. But eventually an increasingly desperate Zira was hanging around at the back of the cafe once more, waiting for what he strongly suspected was lust incarnate.

Crowley was bouncing with energy tonight. Zira could barely get him to sit still long enough to munch his way through some tacos. Zira had a rather more substantial burrito, crammed with delicious vegetables and gooey cheese. Something about the large cylindrical shape bursting at the seams was vaguely evocative of something else though... Not that it put him off his food.

Back to the flat, with Crowley jittering all the way. Zira did sometimes wonder if they should go back to the bookshop instead, but Crowley's bedsheets were indulgently soft, and the man had only ever invited himself back to Zira's place that one time.

When he'd finally got Crowley behind closed doors, Zira firmly planted him down on the sofa.

“What's got you so over-excited?”

“Caffeine. I've uh... not been sleeping great lately, so I'm doubling up on coffee.” Crowley looked weirdly embarrassed about this.

“Hmm, anything I can do to help?”

“Stop making me fantasise about you every fucking night? I was up drawing at three in the fucking morning cos I couldn't sleep.”

“Oh... Well. Maybe I could at least make you sleep soundly tonight?”

It turned out they were both in agreement on that front. So they found themselves on Crowley's sinfully soft bed; Crowley on all fours, Zira knelt behind him armed with a lubed up latex glove.

“Now, you'll promise to tell me if it's too much?”

“Course, Zira. I trust you.”

Well that gave Zira the wibbles... Still. On with the matter at hand. He began with a single finger, fucking Crowley leisurely, making him whine with impatience. Zira carried on with no change of pace, enjoying being a bastard as usual.

“I had an interesting thought. I'd like to see how you do with it. I'm going to ask you about your week, and you will answer me, fully. If you stop, then so do I. What do you think, my dear?”

Crowley grunted. “Sounds _evil_.”

“Mmm, I thought so. What did you do yesterday?” Zira crooked his finger to stroke Crowley's prostate just a _little_.

“Ngk. I – I did the early shift. Was grim. Uh...” Zira added a second finger for encouragement. “I – _fuck_ – I snuck in an extra fag break, when it got quiet. Customers were a bunch of wankers. 'Cept for a couple of regulars, they're ok. Drank a ton of free coffee. Went home after and slept all afternoon, weird dreams.

“Very good.” Zira sped up a little as a reward. “How about the evening?”

“You _know!_ I phoned you. Was going to complain about how tired I was, but then you got me to wank myself off, and I forgot...”

A third finger. “And did you like that?”

“ _Yes_. Fuck, Zira – _please_.”

“And how about the weekend?” Crowley was opening up _beautifully_ , Zira was quivering slightly with anticipation.

“Uh...” Crowley was clearly struggling to form words. “I worked. And drew. Some stuff for uni, few bits for you. That one with the hogtie. Charcoal.”

“Aren't you doing _well?_ ” Zira practically purred, slipping in a fourth finger, as he scratched lines in Crowley's arse with the nails of his other hand. “ _So_ good for me. I think you're close to being ready. Tell me, did you think about me much?”

“ _Yes_. Constantly. _Fuck_... I can't – I thought about you. Doing things to me. Drew them and – and sent them to you. _Please_...”

“Mmm, good boy. You're stretching _so_ nicely for me. Do you think you're ready?”

Crowley was gasping his breaths out. “Fuck, yes. _Yes!_ ”

“Such a sweet boy. Keep breathing, now.” Zira folded his thumb in towards his palm, and started pushing in, then pulling back out a little before he'd quite breached the widest part. “ _So_ good. You're looking _gorgeous_. What did you do at uni last week?”

Crowley let out a long groan, and failed to speak. Zira stilled his hand.

“Come on now, Crowley. What did you do at uni?”

“ _Fuck_. I – I had a tutorial. Sculpture. Was crap. Knew it all. _Please_...”

“ _Gorgeous_.” Zira was already moving his hand again, in and out. As Crowley grew accustomed to the steady movements, Zira squeezed his hand in as narrow as it would go, and pushed the last way in.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Crowley started moaning unintelligibly.

“ _Good_ boy... You're doing so well, I'm _so_ proud of you.” Zira smoothed his other hand soothingly over Crowley's backside. It felt incredible, being buried deep inside him, knowing he was trusted like this.

“How does that feel, my dear?”

“Good. Feel _full_. S'good.”

“I'm glad.” Zira stopped asking questions, he'd probably tortured the poor boy enough. Instead he began lightly tracing his fingers around Crowley's stretched out rim, and listening to the delightful sounds this provoked. He made gentle movements with the hand buried inside Crowley too, just enough to keep things interesting.

When he started to use his tongue as well, Crowley keened. “No. _Please_ , s'too much. Can we -”

“Of course, my dear.” Zira tightened his hand up again and withdrew it in one smooth, quick motion. Crowley collapsed on the bed as Zira dealt with the glove.

They cuddled for a bit after that, before Zira helped a still shaky Crowley get ready for bed. They both slept soundly that night.

Zira drifted back into consciousness the next morning to find Crowley already awake and watching his face. “Hello, dear.”

After a brief kiss, Crowley contorted his face a little.

“Something wrong?”

“No... Just, well. Um.” The words suddenly tumbled out. “I went to get tested, and it was all negative – which is good – and I... I thought that if you got tested too, and it was all ok, then we could stop using condoms. Cos I don't want to sleep with anyone else. If – if that's what you want too.”

Zira smiled tenderly at Crowley's blushing face. “That sounds lovely, my dear. I don't want to sleep with anyone else either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: burrito?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm not even sorry...

Zira was trying _very hard_ not to worry. It had only been three days. Three days was a perfectly reasonable amount of time not to speak to somebody. Or for that somebody not to text, or send you exquisitely detailed explicit pictures. _Clearly_ everything was fine.

It was _also_ perfectly fine to fret horrendously until Tuesday, sneak into the life drawing class halfway through, and check for signs of Crowley. Nothing. Not posing, not in the class. Zira snuck back out again.

_Right_. Either he was being very un-subtly broken up with, or something was badly wrong. Time to take action.

It took fifteen minutes of banging on Crowley's door (more sneaking had been required to even get into the building) before he eventually answered.

Crowley looked like _shit_. He'd clearly slept in his clothes – or not, judging from the bags under his eyes.

“My dear, what's wrong? Did something happen?”

Crowley just sighed. “Any chance that you'll go away? I don't wanna talk about it.”

“No, Crowley, that's not going to happen. May I come in?”

More sighing, but Crowley did shuffle backwards to let him in.

“Whisky?”

“Um... Ok, dear.” From the look of him, alcohol couldn't make things much worse.

They settled on the sofa with their drinks. Zira was feeling worried still, but at least he had Crowley sat in front of him. He let Crowley sip at his drink for a minute, since he was clearly psyching himself up for the coming conversation.

“So... what happened?”

“'S complicated. It – it was my birthday on Saturday.”

“Oh, you didn't tell me! Should I have done something?”

“No! It's... I don't celebrate it. Never have. I just – it brings back memories. I kind of fell apart this time round.” Crowley waved a hand to indicate general catastrophe.

“Right...” Zira struggled to know what to say. “Do you think you can tell me about it?”

Crowley wriggled a little in discomfort. “Just a ton of bad shit. My dad never let me celebrate my birthday when I was a kid, and I still feel sort of weird about it. S'nothing really.”

“My dear, it's not nothing. Why would he do that?” Zira's parents had not been the most tolerant of people, but he did at least get birthday presents.

“Because he was an emotionally abusive dickhead? Look, it doesn't matter, ok? I deserved it.”

“No, Crowley, I am sure you did _not_. You're a good person, you deserve people celebrating you.”

This just made Crowley laugh. “You think I'm a good person? I'm a piece of shit, and you know it.”

Zira's head was reeling. He'd never heard Crowley talk like that about himself. “Crowley dear, what are you talking about? You're generous, and talented, and...”

“Don't _lie_ , ok? I know what I am. Just... can we not? Can we talk about something else, please?”

It was heartbreaking, seeing Crowley so wounded and vulnerable. Zira reached out to stroke his cheek, but Crowley just flinched away.

They sat in awkward silence for a minute, before Zira started to prattle on about the bookshop, and problem customers. Crowley stared dumbly at his drink, but eventually showed signs of paying attention to Zira's stories.

When he moved on to praise one of last week's drawings though (pen and ink, a particularly obscene rendition of Crowley's prick swollen round a metal cock ring), Crowley jerked his face around angrily.

Apparently reaching a decision, Crowley put his glass down, and slithered to his knees in front of Zira.

“Can we do something else instead?” Crowley put his hands on Zira's thighs, pushing ever so slightly for him to part them.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yeah.”

Zira sighed, coming to a decision. He spread his legs apart.

The hungry way Crowley was devouring his cock reminded Zira of that first night he'd come back to the flat. He liked to think he'd gotten to know the redhead a little better by now.

So he was a good eighty percent confident that what he was about to do was a good idea, and for the best...

Zira grabbed a fistful of Crowley's hair, and twisted it into a tight grip. Crowley whined eagerly at the new development, and seemed even happier when Zira held him in place and began thrusting into his mouth.

“ _Now_ , Crowley, I seem to have your full attention. You _will_ listen to me. You are the most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on.” Zira forced Crowley's head deep onto his cock, before letting him slide back a little.

“You're also so very very kind. Do you know how much that time meant to me, at the bookshop? You care _so much_ about people, about me. I hope I let you know how much I appreciate what you did that night.” Deep, lazy thrusts this time, to let everything sink in.

“And I know... You bought me takeaway, just to cheer me up. And you spent your whole food budget for the week. On me. Crowley you're too kind. I – I wish you realised.”

Zira stopped speaking for a minute, feeling like he was getting too emotional. He focussed on Crowley's face, his mouth stretched so prettily. _Fuck_.

“Crowley, those drawings you send me drive me _crazy_. I think about you just like this, taking me like this. You've got so much talent, your art is _fantastic_. It's just... it's incredible. Don't you _know_ that?”

Crowley's eyes, increasingly watering, still looked disbelieving. Well, that just wouldn't do. Zira held him firmly in place with one hand, while stroking his cheekbone lovingly with the other. Watching his cock feed into Crowley's mouth again and again, Zira felt nearly overwhelmed with emotion.

“I know you don't think it, but you're so very sweet, Crowley. You make my life infinitely better, even just seeing you once a week. I wish – oh, to Hell with it. Crowley, I'm – I'm falling in love with you. I'm _in_ love with you. And I know...” Zira kept thrusting on automatic pilot, not even noticing how close he was to the edge. “ - I know it's _far_ too soon, and you probably don't feel the same way... I shouldn't have said it, but I just need you to _know_. You're _incredible_ , Crowley.”

Suddenly lost for words, Zira soon found himself spilling down Crowley's throat. Gasping a little for breath, he gently pulled Crowley backwards. He was a little afraid of what might come next, but overall Zira just felt a massive sense of _relief_.

Followed by the realisation that Crowley was full on crying. Zira ungracefully slid to the floor so he could at least keep Crowley upright, the man seemed to have lost control completely.

His breath was growing harsher and harsher. _Shit_. Was he hyperventilating? What did you do when someone was hyperventilating?

Zira went for soothingly rubbing Crowley's back, while the man gasped and wheezed beside him. Fuck's sake, Zira, could you _actually_ kill someone by a love confession?

“Breathe, dearest, just breathe. I'm – I'm so sorry.”

This had no effect. Zira was beginning to panic, and desperately hoping Crowley didn't secretly have asthma. _Fuck_.

“ _Please_ just breathe...” At this point Crowley whirled a hand a little in the air, as if to say that he was _trying_.

“Well... can't you breathe _better?_ ”

For some reason, that did the trick. Crowley drew in a great gasp of breath, and held it for a few seconds. He was still taking in whole gusts of air, but slower, and with more purpose now.

Minutes passed there on the floor, and Zira sensed Crowley calming more and more. Eventually, he spoke.

“You fucking _bastard_... I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: wanna play confessions?


	13. Chapter 13

Crowley still seemed a bit fragile the next morning, but in a tentatively happy sort of way. They stayed tangled together in bed for what seemed like hours, Zira lazily running his fingers through Crowley's hair, and down his cheekbones.

Eventually, Crowley moved.

“Got something to show you.”

He went and fished out a sketchbook from one of his desk drawers, and thrust it unceremoniously at Zira.

“I'm gonna go make coffee.”

And with that, he was gone. Zira felt somewhat taken aback at Crowley's sudden departure, but he did feel _very_ curious about this other sketchbook he'd been hiding.

The contents were... _overwhelming_. Zira supposed he shouldn't be so surprised. Drawing came so naturally to Crowley. But the fact that he'd clearly spent _hours_ working on this...

The first few pages were quick studies in charcoal. All of Zira's head or face. He recognised his furrowed brow as the frustration he'd felt during that first class. Crowley must have drawn him from memory. But _why?_ Zira knew he wasn't all that memorable...

It wasn't just frustration etched on his face though. Every few sketches, there was a glimpse of naked lust. _Shit_. Had he really been that obvious? Apparently so...

Four pages in, things started getting a little more intense. There was a full-page watercolour of Zira's face, eyes staring right back into his own. Apparently Crowley had fixated on his eyes somewhat, because there were over half a dozen blue eyes painted around his head, in a quest to get them just right. The effect was more than a little unnerving.

Zira wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to _take_ all of this. So, he just kept turning pages. The next drawing that caught his eye was a full length figure – clearly him again – and a _snake_ coiled on the ground. It was large, black and red, and should have been intimidating, except that it seemed to be cowering in fear. _Very_ expressive eyes, for a snake. Maybe not altogether in fear?

Then on the next page, the snake was coiled round Zira's leg. This was... what was he supposed to be feeling right now? He felt almost like he was _intruding_. Still, Crowley had very clearly meant for him to see this.

The snake still seemed afraid, even as it was winding its way up his leg, but there was also a sense of _need_...

Zira flipped to the next page. _Wow_. Ok, that was a thing... First came a drawing of the snake disappearing straight into Zira's unzipped trousers... and then right next to it was a depiction of the snake wrapped around Zira's erect cock. Zira took a minute to breathe. How was he even meant to respond to this? Apart from, apparently, in arousal.

For fuck's sake, Zira, can't you even _pretend_ to be offended by this? Zira knew he was not the most _chaste_ of people, but really... He was at least _supposed_ to have standards. Although the shading on those coils was _exquisite_. Breathtaking levels of talent. And Zira should absolutely not be getting off on this.

But, well... it was so clearly _Crowley_. Zira chose not to imagine why he was depicting himself as a dreadfully attractive serpent, but he couldn't deny it was a good look on him.

And if it _was_ Crowley, then surely there was nothing wrong with being attracted to him? Zira felt like this logic could get a little fuzzy if he examined it too closely, so he quickly turned to the next page. _Definitely_ not a wrench to stop looking at that snake picture.

Ok, this next one was indefinably _heartbreaking_. Crowley was on his knees, human, reaching out to Zira beseechingly. And ok, he _was_ reaching rather towards the crotch region, but the broken expression on his _face_... Zira never wanted to see him look so tormented.

The sketchbook went on somewhat in the same vein. There was a rather sweet depiction of the snake draped around Zira's shoulders, with its head raised to meet his eyes, and its tongue flickering out to taste the air. And, in the latter proportions of the book, some very fetching nudes of Zira, with the snake _tastefully_ arranged around his curves. It was all rather lovely.

On the whole though, Zira couldn't help but think that Crowley must have _dreadfully_ low self esteem. He'd depicted himself as attractive (mostly), but also cowering on the floor, and coiled up as if ashamed. Zira resolved to _do_ something. Crowley was _not_ allowed to have low self esteem when he was around.

With that, he got up (naked) and marched into the living room. Where oh dear God, Crowley looked _terrified_. Maybe the marching had been a bad idea. Still, too late for regrets.

Zira grabbed Crowley's coffee cup (currently being held in a defensive position), and set it aside. He promptly straddled the man's legs, and kissed him possessively, nipping at Crowley's lips.

Coming up for air eventually, Zira launched into his campaign of high self esteem. “You are _gorgeous_ , and _talented_ , and... and I'm surprised your imagination hasn't got you arrested. And I'm very much in love with you, my dear.”

“Fuck...” Crowley eloquently stated. “You didn't – you don't mind?”

“No, my dear. I do however have a small request for you.”

Crowley looked a little terrified again. “Yeah?”

“I'd like you to draw me. From life.”

“Shit, yeah... Now?”

Zira nodded at him.

“Let me just go get my stuff.”

Crowley accordingly hurried off, and Zira took the opportunity to steal the remains of his coffee.

“For fuck's _sake_ , Zira, you're meant to stay _still!_ ”

“You said you were drawing my legs now. My legs are staying still.”

“I'm sorry, was I supposed _not_ to be distracted by your _vigorously wanking yourself off?_ ”

“Well, you do look so _attractive_ when you're drawing. It's hardly my fault, dear.”

Zira was having a wonderful time. He'd never (knowingly) been the subject of a portrait before. And _certainly_ not a nude one. He'd have been embarrassed had it been anyone else, but there was something so _right_ about Crowley being the one to draw him.

It felt simply _lovely_ having his full attention like this. Zira knew it was more than a little naughty to have turned to masturbation, but Crowley was quite adorable when he was flustered. And Zira was considerately holding off on finishing himself off at _least_ until the portrait was done.

Less considerately, he was also making full eye contact every time Crowley glanced over. And if Zira occasionally bit his lip provocatively, well... Crowley surely wasn't all _that_ upset?

“Right, that's _it,_ ” Crowley snapped, apparently not tuned into Zira's internal monologue. He threw down the pencil and stomped over to the sofa.

“You think you can just lie there and _wank yourself off?_ Without so much as _inviting me to join you?_ ”

Crowley reached down and grabbed Zira's cock. So apparently angry hand jobs were on the menu... _Delightful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: _ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss_


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley seemed genuinely pissed off.

“You're a right _fucking_ bastard, you know that?”

“I know,” Zira answered happily. Crowley was bent over him, aggressively tugging at Zira's cock and making these little _hissing_ noises. It was truly _adorable_. So Zira pointed that out.

Crowley didn't see the funny side of that part, either.

“It's just that you look so _cute_ when you're angry!”

“Would you fucking shut _up?_ You're insufferable...”

“You poor _darling_...” Zira reached up to caress Crowley's ever-suffering face. “ _Doomed_ to give me endless pleasure.” Soon after this point Zira gave up on speaking (Crowley had sped up in frustration, and it was rather _distracting_ ), and started making some very expressive moans that were _just_ the wrong side of smug.

“ _Bastard_ ,” Crowley hissed. And then jerked back when Zira suddenly came all over his face.

Crowley looked _exquisite_ with Zira's come spattered over him. He'd sat back on his heels, eyes glued shut with come, and it was dripping down his cheeks like the most delicious icing.

”Stay right there. I'll be back in a second.”

Zira wriggled around Crowley and escaped the sofa. He hurried through to the next room, and returned a minute later.

“Stay still, my dear.” There was a click.

“Are you taking a fucking _photo?_ ”

“Well, I had to. You just look so very _fetching_. No, don't move. I'll clean you up.” Zira now picked up the damp cloth he'd also brought, and started dabbing at Crowley's face. “There, that's _much_ better.”

Crowley's eyes remained shut, as Zira washed him. He really was too sweet. Putting the cloth aside, Zira caressed his cheek, and drew him in for a kiss.

“There. Am I forgiven?”

“I suppose,” Crowley grumbled.

They ended up cuddled together on the sofa, Zira pressed into the back and Crowley with one leg sprawled around Zira's. It was soothing. Zira felt utterly at peace. It was an effort to make himself speak.

“Do you have work this afternoon?”

“...Yeah. I took the last couple of days off sick, said I had food poisoning. Better go in today though.”

“You could _still_ be sick...?”

That drew a sigh from Crowley. “Nah. I need the money. Wish I fucking didn't though.”

Suddenly, Crowley looked far too tired.

Zira kept thinking about that exhausted look on Crowley's face, all week. He felt like there must be _some_ way to help. But... Crowley needed to work. Apparently, he needed to work every day of the week. He had rent to pay, and a course to fund. Zira felt more than a little guilty about his own privileged position.

Texting wasn't reassuring. Crowley was clearly attempting to be sociable, but he seemed so much less _engaged_ than usual. Zira didn't know what to do. They chatted on the phone for a bit on Friday night, and Crowley just sounded bone-tired.

He loved Crowley. He needed to do _something_. Was there a socially acceptable way to offer your financially disadvantaged boyfriend regular sums of cash?

Probably not...

Still, by Sunday he had a plan. He put on his least precious waistcoat, and got to work.

On Monday night, he called Crowley again, doing his best to sound casual.

“Dearest, I wondered if you'd like to come round to my place tomorrow, instead of yours?”

Crowley seemed a little taken aback, but he agreed.

“ _Splendid_. Would you come over after class?”

Zira didn't open the shop at all on Tuesday (there was a very disgruntled customer who persistently knocked on the door from 11.15 through to 11.30, but Zira was made of sterner stuff than that). He had _preparations_ to make.

When Crowley arrived that night, he looked both tired and anxious.

“Are you alright my dear? You look out of sorts.”

“Yeah, well, you know... Work and stuff. And – why did you ask me round? You've never invited me over before.” Crowley looked almost miserable.

“Well, it's about time then. Would you like to come upstairs?”

Zira had laid out a small takeaway banquet upstairs. He'd put a flowering potted plant in the middle of the table (he hoped Crowley knew how to take care of plants, because he hadn't a clue how to look after the poor thing), and had transferred all the food onto proper plates. He really should learn to cook...

“Zira, you shouldn't have. I – thanks.” Crowley abruptly shut up.

“Nonsense, dear. Shall we?”

Zira enjoyed watching Crowley shovel food into his mouth. It was so different to the way Zira enjoyed his food. Which was _really_ rather good. He helped himself to more baba ganoush.

After they'd eaten, Zira couldn't keep it in any longer.

“I've got something to show you.”

Crowley looked wary, but followed obediently behind him through to the furthest door of the flat.

“Well? What do you think?”

“It's... an empty room.”

“I cleaned it out! It has the _best_ natural light in the flat. Well, not right now, obviously. But in the daytime. Look how big the windows are!”

“Um, yeah. And?” Crowley seemed a little frustrated.

“ _Well_ , I know that natural light is important. For artists. And – and I think it would make a _lovely_ studio for you.” Zira knew for a fact he was turning a bright shade of pink.

“What – what do you mean? You know I see you as much as I can.” Now Crowley looked positively miserable. This was _not_ the intended effect.

_Right_. Cards on the table time.

“ _I want you to move in with me_. I don't want any rent, and with the money you save, you could spend so much more time on your art. And... and I could wake up with you. Every day. I'd like that.”

Crowley said nothing. At least he wasn't hyperventilating? Then he just kept on saying nothing. Zira monitored his face anxiously.

_Shit_. He was crying. Who the fuck decided crying could be a bad thing _or also_ a good thing? Zira forced himself just to wait it out and say nothing. Crowley clearly needed time to process things.

“Are... are you sure? Why would you want to live with _me?_ ”

“Crowley, my love, why _wouldn't_ I? You're kind, you're clever, talented... You own a giant octopus dildo. Do you not _realise_ how fantastic you are?”

Crowley shook his head dumbly. Zira really had to get to grips with this self esteem issue.

“Well. _I_ want to live with _you_. So the question is, do _you_ want to live with _me?_ ”

“...Yes.”

At this, Zira positively leapt at Crowley to embrace him. The poor boy was _trembling_.

“I'm going to look after you, are we clear? I _forbid_ you to have money worries. _Or_ to overwork yourself. You will work a sensible number of days, and you will spend many lazy mornings in bed with me. Ok?”

“Yeah, you win. You can be my sugardaddy.”

_Shit_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: see you can be infuriated by someone _and_ have sex with them!


	15. Chapter 15

Zira felt like a ball of nervous energy, bouncing around the shop. He even _knocked over a pile of books_ at one point, after which (having picked up all the books and apologised to them), he went over to the sofa and sat on his hands.

Crowley was moving in _tomorrow_. There were still three weeks left on his lease, but... why wait? It wasn't like Crowley had much stuff to pack (“Minimalism,” he'd explained to a baffled Zira as he packed a third of his belongings into a single cardboard box).

So... all Zira had to do was wait. And ring Crowley up every half hour to check he hadn't forgotten to look in the bathroom cabinet. Or under the sink. And did he own the living room curtains?

“For fuck's _sake_ , Zira – the living room doesn't even _have_ curtains! Can you please just stop stressing?”

“I can't. I've got nothing to do...”

“Read a book! Have a wank! Do _something_.”

“I... I'm _nervous_. And my imagination's _quite_ deserted me.”

“Right.” Crowley sounded a _little_ bit fed up. “I _personally_ will draw you some _stunningly erotic pornography,_ if you'll just _hang up the damn phone_.”

So that was that. Forty-five minutes later, Zira had tucked himself up in bed with a glass of wine and a series of phone-sized sketches of himself doing exquisitely filthy things to a rather reptilian Crowley (his snake scales looked _gorgeous_ criss-crossed with ropework). He had to admit, this was much better than fretting.

As it turned out, masturbation _was_ the solution to this particular problem. Sleepy and sated, Zira had little trouble drifting off for the night.

Morning came, and brought Crowley in a taxi. How could one person's _entire_ life fit in a taxi? Zira suddenly wondered if the moving in presents he'd bought Crowley would be altogether welcome.

Still, Crowley seemed so _excited_. In a nervous kind of way.

Between them they wrestled the few boxes into the shop, and upstairs into the flat.

“Well! Here we are then.”

“Zira...”

“Yes, dear?”

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“That. The great big monolith on your kitchen worktop.”

“Oh, _that!_ It's your new coffee machine.”

Crowley's eyes lit up with the joy of caffeine. He kicked a box (marked 'breakables') aside, and grabbed a mug, before jabbing the machine into life.

It whirred and buzzed for a minute, before settling down with an LED glare. Crowley quickly selected 'espresso', and watched in delight as the machine did all the work for him.

“This is _fantastic_.” He stabbed the button again. And again.

“Dearest... what are you doing?”

“Making a quintuple espresso!”

“Oh dear Lord...”

“Best sugardaddy _ever_. Anyway, get to work. _You're_ unpacking that one.” Crowley gestured at a box graffitied with a giant cock and balls.

“Dare I ask?”

“Nope! Bedroom.” Crowley turned back to his nascent quintuple espresso.

Curiosity piqued, Zira obediently hauled the box into the bedroom.

After he'd slit open the packing tape and pulled back the cardboard flaps, Zira felt a little disappointed. It appeared to be a box entirely filled with (rather elegant) silken fabric scarves. There _must_ be more to it than that...

Maybe there was something _underneath_ the scarves? He decided to have a rummage. Sticking his hand into the box, Zira immediately discovered a very _definite_ shape. A long, firm and yet _flexible_ shape.

He pulled at the scarf, and it unfurled to reveal a fluorescent green werewolf dick. Zira was rather embarrassed to realise he knew the appropriate vocabulary to describe the _knot_.

_Right_. He had a working hypothesis for the remaining contents of the box. Time to test that theory.

Scarf two. _Very_ large dildo, clearly of alien origin. Hollow, and for some reason accompanied by a set of egg-shaped moulds. _Odd_.

Scarf three. Very long. Tapered. And oh dear Lord, there were suckers. Unveiled, there was no mistaking it. It was the obscenely huge tentacle dildo.

“Crowley?”

“...Yeah?” Crowley stuck his head round the door, looking rather twitchy.

“Is this _whole_ box full of monster dildos?”

“ _What?_ No... There's – there's at least one layer of butt plugs. Here, I'll show you.”

And with that, Crowley was in the bedroom and rummaging in the box.

“Look! Butt plug!”

“Why, on God's dear earth, does that butt plug have a parrot-shaped door knocker attached to it?”

“Uh... shits and giggles? I dunno. Never actually used that one, it's more for display purposes. Here, what about this one?”

The proffered butt plug was... it was a lot. Gay pride stripes, protruding tentacle, large and bulbous plug... It was strangely beautiful. Or at least, Zira was certainly feeling _something_.

“And do you use _this_ one often?”

“Oh yeah, this is one of my favourites. You can use both ends!”

“Mmm, I intend to. Would you care to strip for me and get up onto the bed?”

Crowley, clearly seeing no objection, vibrated his way out of his clothes and onto the bed.

“ _Gorgeous_ thing. Would you like me to fuck you open with this?”

This drew vigorous nodding from Crowley.

“Mmm, _good_. Roll over for me.”

Crowley squirmed over onto his front, arse wriggling in the air provocatively while Zira fished out the lube.

Soon Zira was slathering the tentacle end of the excessively gay silicone dildo with lube, and began rubbing the tip up and down over Crowley's hole.

“I'm _so_ glad you're here with me. Just imagine, I could spend _hours_ teasing you now, and there's nowhere you need to rush off to.”

Crowley whined in response.

“Hmm, do you want a little more?” Zira kept rubbing with the very tip of the protruding tentacle as Crowley impatiently shoved his arse backwards.

“Well, my dear, you know I'm bad at denying you things...” Zira began slowly corkscrewing the tentacle in, as Crowley's breath hitched.

“ _So_ good for me. Would you like some more?”

“ _Yesss_ ,” Crowley hissed.

Ever so gently, Zira withdrew the tentacle, before abruptly thrusting it back in. Crowley yelped, and Zira repeated the action, each time withdrawing, and then pushing in a little bit further.

“You look _beautiful_ , my dear. I could do this to you all day...”

Soon enough, Crowley was taking the length of the tentacle to the hilt. Zira enjoyed Crowley's arse on display, expanding and contracting obscenely for him.

“Well! This was _lovely_. Back in a sec!” With that, Zira unceremoniously yanked the entire dildo-cum-butt plug from Crowley's suddenly bereft anus.

Zira rapidly vanished to the bathroom, rinsed off the tentacle, and was back before a disgruntled Crowley could shift too far out of position.

Rapidly lubing up the butt plug end of the dildo, Zira pushed it inside Crowley's anus with a decidedly un-romantic _schlupping_ noise.

“Turn over again for me, my dear.” Zira smiled as Crowley obeyed. “You've been _so_ good to me, and I want to give you a proper welcome.”

With that, Zira began enthusiastically sucking Crowley's cock. Every time Crowley wriggled, the butt plug got further jiggled inside him, causing more writhing and gasping. Zira was _very_ much enjoying this.

Squeezing Crowley's balls similarly drew out _exquisite_ responses. Zira soon developed a blissed-out rhythm of bobbing, squeezing and thrusting in with the butt plug. Crowley was emitting a whole new kind of high pitched noise, which Zira found simply _delightful_.

Although Crowley was clearly doing his best to hold back, Zira (rather gratifyingly) quickly pushed him to a climax. Zira hollowed his cheeks out and sucked every last drop, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself.

After, they lay together on the bed.

“Welcome home, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valvopus: care to knock on my door? ;)


	16. Chapter 16

Zira was _very much trying_ to stay on-task. Everything was absolutely _fine_ , and he wasn't going to _ruin_ it all with one _silly_ aversion.

It wasn't as if Crowley _meant_ anything by it. He was clearly trying very hard to make Zira happy, and most of the time it was working. He just needed to squash down this _one_ emotion, and everything would be _perfect_.

He looked down as Crowley made a gagging noise. Whoops, he'd really zoned out there. Getting a firmer grip of the rope braided into Crowley's hair, Zira yanked his head back enough to allow Crowley to breathe for a second, before tugging in the _other_ direction at the metal hook currently buried in Crowley's arse.

Crowley's eyes watered _beautifully_ at that. And then when he started pawing at Zira's thigh, with his hands uselessly encased in the gorgeous leather mitts Zira had bought him... He looked so adorably _helpless_.

Zira played with the rope some more. With Crowley so precariously balanced (legs bound up in rope so only his knees touched the floor, and hands rendered barely functional with the leather mitts), Zira could rock him back and forth on all fours, alternating the pressure on Crowley's hair and his arsehole. The poor boy was moaning and drooling around Zira's cock, and if Zira could just stop _thinking_ so damn much, it would be _exquisite_.

They would just have to have another talk. A _proper_ one this time. One where Zira wouldn't get embarrassed and laugh it off. If he could just _tell_ Crowley how _uncomfortable_ it made him... And he would. The very next time it happened.

With this resolution set, Zira forced himself to think of absolutely nothing but the sensation of Crowley whimpering and choking at his feet. Crowley really was so _very_ good to him.

With this thought, Zira hauled on the rope and pulled Crowley off of his prick completely.

“You look _so_ sweet like that, my dear. I'll give you a choice. Would you like me to come in your mouth, or your arse?”

Crowley coughed in response, before muttering something that might have been 'arse'.

So Zira carefully unknotted the rope where it attached to the anal hook, and slowly released the pressure. Crowley's back suddenly relaxed from the cruel arch it had been forced into, and Zira had to steady him at the hips to keep him upright.

The hook came out with a shiver from Crowley. Zira rubbed his thumb around Crowley's oversensitive arsehole, and was gratified when Crowley emitted an emotional wail.

“Do you want me to stop, my dear?” Zira stilled his hand.

“Nn – no.” Crowley's whole body was shaking now, and Zira rubbed his other hand soothingly over his poor love's back.

“Good boy. Stay right there.” Zira grabbed his (now near empty) bottle of lube, and added to the slick of Crowley's saliva on his cock.

Ever so gently, he slid inside. Crowley was nicely stretched out from the hook, and oh so very sensitive. Zira rocked in and out, dragging his cock across Crowley's abused rim and leading to the most _delightful_ noises.

“You've been so _very_ good for me.” Zira ran a hand around Crowley's sharp hip bone, and wrapped around his prick. Keeping up the gentle rhythm, Zira stroked him and hugged him close.

The floor was hard on Zira's knees, but then again, Crowley had been down there for _ages_ without complaint. In fact, with every sign of enjoyment.

Crowley came first, with another wail, and collapsed face first onto the now rather sticky floor. Thank Heaven for hardwood flooring...

Pulling on Crowley's hips, Zira kept slowly fucking him, now with some unfortunate additional noises courtesy of the mess on the floor. But the obscene sight that Crowley made, face squashed against the floor, arms spread out haphazardly, stinking of sweat and semen...

Being a bit of a bastard, Zira took the end of the rope still braided into Crowley's long hair, and _tugged_. Crowley let out an agonised yelp and, orgasm building, Zira thrust in harder before finally spilling over the edge.

Responsible man that he was, Zira took only a moment to gather himself before he began the rather involved process of untying Crowley. At least with him now splatted on the floor, legs up, he had easy access...

Crowley wriggled a little in pain as his legs were released, and even more so when Zira dug into the muscles with his hands. He gasped when his hair was unplaited.

Next, off came the mitts. Crowley flexed his fingers and stroked the thick leather.

“You're such a good sugardaddy... The absolute _best_.”

_Bugger_.

_Right_. Ten hours later, Zira was trying not to be annoyed with himself. It just hadn't been the right time. Crowley was in no state for a serious conversation, and it had been for the best to ignore it and take care of him.

But _next_ time... Next time he would _say_ something. It was _perfectly_ acceptable to have limits, and turn offs. He just had to _explain_ to Crowley that he didn't like it, and that would be that.

Unfortunately, the next time happened to be at the pub. With Anathema. Crowley was blithely rattling on about how good his life was now, thanks to his new _sugardaddy_. And he was so _happy_. And he couldn't possibly know that inside Zira was _seething_.

True, Anathema threw him a sidelong glance, but then she'd always tended somewhat towards the psychic. Crowley was blissfully oblivious, slurping at his drink and occasionally grinning for no reason.

Maybe the adult thing to do was _not_ to have the conversation? Maybe he didn't have to solve every problem... He could just get used to it. Crowley was so _happy_ , and so was he, really. It was one word, definitely ignorable. Almost definitely.

Anathema was giving Zira increasingly weird looks. Damn her, couldn't she turn off her witch's intuition for five minutes?

Fortunately Crowley distracted her with a game of 'guess what I found while cleaning Starbucks' toilets!' Revolting, but Zira was grateful.

When they bade Anathema goodnight and started to wander home, Crowley took his arm.

“You alright? You kept getting that grumpy look.”

“Me? Oh, I'm fine. Absolutely tickety-boo!”

Coward.

They were on the sofa (Zira's nice, comfy, un-boxy sofa) the next time. Crowley was grinning wickedly as he explained how he'd horrified an older relative with his new sugardaddy arrangement.

Do or die, Zira.

“ _Aardvark_ ,” he blurted.

“Huh?”

“ _Aardvark_. Red. Crowley, I need you to stop.”

Crowley looked mystified, and a little scared.

“What – what do you mean?”

“I... I hate it when you use the word 'sugardaddy'. It has _connotations_. And it just makes me uncomfortable. Please could you just... just find another word to describe me.”

Crowley let out a startled giggle, and was silent for a minute.

“Anything you want... _Angel_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you want, Valvopus...


End file.
